


The Better Part of Valor

by likeatumbleweed



Series: The Brave and Happy Life of Loki and Sigyn [7]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Loki Does What He Wants, Manipulative Loki, Mild Sexual Content, but for once he doesn't get what he expects, it's more suggestive than anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2206623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeatumbleweed/pseuds/likeatumbleweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One morning not long after beginning her relationship with Loki, Sigyn is late reporting for her duties with the queen. When Loki (who has everything to do with her tardiness) shows up to take advantage of her embarrassment, Sigyn is less than cooperative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Sigyn sees as her eyes slip open is the weathered and cracked spine of a book. It’s one of Loki’s favorites, open and face-down on the floor just to the side of his desk, half of the well-thumbed pages crumpled and creased in its careless treatment. Just beyond lie three more, one of them steadily soaking up the contents of an overturned inkwell.

Three things occur to her in rapid succession: how unusual it is for Loki to drop his books so haphazardly; followed by a memory of them not being _dropped_ so much as _hastily removed with a swipe of Loki’s arm_ to make room for their previous evening’s decidedly adventurous pursuits involving his desk; and finally, by the realization that the daylight streaming through the window is far brighter than it should be if she has any hope of reporting for her duties with the Queen at the expected time.

Her eyes go wide in a surge of panic. Oversleeping is the one thing Sigyn has prided herself on never doing while in the Queen’s employ, but now it seems her unblemished record of punctuality has come to an end.

Of course, for the first six months of her service she wasn’t being kept up for hours nearly every night doing unspeakable things with the younger prince of the realm. But even if the most recent seven weeks _have_ been eye-opening in regards to Loki’s prowess and her own physical endurance, Sigyn feels her lack of sleep is no excuse for shirking her responsibilities.    

She shifts in the bed, preparing to swing her legs over the edge and to the floor, when a strong arm encircles her waist, keeping her in place.

“Where are you going?” Loki asks, sounding suspiciously alert to have just woken up.

“I’m late for my duties,” Sigyn sighs, trying her best to ignore Loki’s fingers as they draw half circles into the skin of her bare abdomen, each passing stroke taking them lower and lower across her belly. “Your mother will be wondering where I am.”

“She knows where you are,” he says, pulling Sigyn closer until the long length of his body is molded around hers. “She would have sent someone to collect you by now…if she had a need as urgent as mine.” He not-so-subtly moves his hips forward, and she is left with no question as to the very _specific_ nature of his need.

“You’re not helping.”

“I’m helping myself,” he says, his hand sliding even lower, and the way he moves his fingers next is far more difficult for her to ignore. The bed itself could go up in flames around them and Sigyn wouldn’t leave it to save her own life.

“Ugh. I _hate_ you,” she says, even as her legs involuntarily relax wider.

“Mmmhmm. For such a cold emotion, hate certainly feels rather warm and wet.”

Her body goes pliant beneath his manipulation; when she whines in frustration, angry with herself for giving in so easily, he takes it as a sign of encouragement and doubles his efforts. _Damn him and his talented fingers._

“You’re already overdue, my love,” he whispers, and she abandons all pretense of struggle. “You might as well make it worth it.”

* * *

With every step closer to the queen’s chambers, Sigyn’s sense of dread grows.

Her braids are less tidy than usual, her dress faintly disheveled, her lips still kiss-swollen…everything about her appearance veritably screams _quite recently and thoroughly fucked_. Not exactly the look she would prefer to be wearing while attending her lover’s mother.

She couldn’t afford the luxury of a lengthy bath after she finally escaped Loki’s bed, and as a result thoroughness was sacrificed for swiftness. Anyone venturing within speaking distance will smell Loki all over her, as was doubtless his intention. It’s new territory for her, to feel newly unrestricted and yet still so utterly _possessed_.  

Queen Frigga is pacing in front of her bookshelves when Sigyn walks in. She gives Sigyn a quick once over, and it is with no small amount of relief that Sigyn notes a distinct lack of anger in her face.

Sigyn thinks it best to speak before the queen does, to explain by way of an apology. A pithy truth, one Sigyn hopes will be enough. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I…I overslept,” she says, nervously running her fingers over the neckline of her gown. In her rush to leave Loki’s chambers, she didn’t think to check for visible marks he may have left on her body; she wouldn’t put it past him to not tell her if she had any.

“All is forgiven,” says Frigga with a wave of her hand. “I’m quite certain you are not entirely to blame for your tardiness.”  

“No ma’am. I am a grown woman, capable of making my own choices. I cannot lay the blame for this at anyone’s feet but my own.”

Frigga tilts her head, her face a combination of pity and resignation. “Sigyn, there are those in Asgard whose powers of persuasion rival even the most seasoned of politicians. When you find yourself entangled with one, you come to an understanding that your choices are, on occasion…easily _manipulated_.”

Sigyn cannot bring herself to get upset at such an unflattering yet obvious truth, especially spoken with a complete lack of judgment or condemnation from someone she holds in such high esteem. For a fleeting second, she wonders if the queen ever had this conversation with any of Loki’s former companions, but she chases the thought away as soon as it’s formed. She doesn’t like to dwell on the knowledge that she is not the first to warm his bed at night, but she’s not stupid. No one gets to his level of expertise without copious amounts of practice.

“Of course, my queen,” she says. “Regretfully, I am still adjusting to my new circumstances. But rest assured, I am a quick study.”

“That you are, dear girl,” says the queen, and Sigyn swears she sees a hint of amusement in her eyes.

* * *

Halfway through her morning, Sigyn is finding it near impossible to concentrate on even her most basic duties. Her mind constantly drifts to thoughts of Loki – beautiful, devastating, terrible Loki – and how they had ushered in the new day.

_“You’re going to think about this later,” he’d said as he’d hovered over her. “When it’s least appropriate, you’re going to remember just how incredible it felt to be filled by me, and you will be wholly unable to disguise the joy on your face. Everyone will guess your wicked thoughts.”_

_He’d turned to kiss the inside of her right ankle as it rested on his shoulder, and Sigyn had watched as a tiny drop of sweat trickled from his hair and into the hollow of his cheek, reflecting the decadent, too-late-in-the-morning light. She would have reached to wipe it away if her wrists hadn’t been pinned to the bed above her head in one of his large hands._

_“You – oh Norns! – you’re the worst,” she’d said, trying to sound convincing and failing completely._

_“I think you mean the **best** ,” he’d said with a grin, and his hips hadn’t faltered once in their maddening pace. _

The memory is so fresh, so _vivid_ , Sigyn can actually hear Loki’s voice…and when she looks up from her perch on the sofa she understands why.

Despite strict instructions from his mother to stay occupied elsewhere during the day, Loki has silently entered the room and is standing next to his mother’s writing desk, holding an ink-saturated book Sigyn last saw on the floor of his chambers not three hours prior. He has gently wrapped it in a cloth to prevent it staining anything.

“Mother, it seems I’ve ruined one of my poetry books. Is there anything to be done for it?”

“What happened?” asks the queen, taking it from him with a scowl. “It’s unlike you to be so careless with your things, especially your books.”

He shrugs, his face deceptively innocent. “A desk accident. Sigyn and I were having a particularly vigorous discussion about this individual poet’s body of work, and in my enthusiasm for the subject I must have knocked a few books to the floor. I don’t know what’s come over me lately to make me so clumsy.”

“I see,” says the queen. “And was this… _vigorous discussion_ the reason she was late for her duties this morning?”

“Was she?” he asks, and the shock he manages to convey would assure even the most cynical person of his sincerity. He looks to Sigyn with an infuriating amount of smugness. “How terribly unprofessional of her.”

Sigyn stops herself from snapping at him with only the most monumental of efforts. “Indeed it was,” she says instead, her tone as icy as she can manage. “Fortunately, I am taking steps to ensure it _never_ happens again.”

Loki’s smile falters so faintly she almost misses it, before returning to full blinding intensity. “Excellent. For the sake of your position here at the palace, I do think that’s the wisest course of action.” He draws out the word _position_ in such a way she flushes scarlet with thoughts of how thorough his recent tutelage in such matters has been. She wonders idly if she could get away with smothering him in his sleep before deciding it wouldn’t be worth the trouble.

“I’m not sure this book can be salvaged, Loki,” says the queen. “The damage is quite extensive.”

“That’s a shame. It was one of my favorites.” He turns his attention to Sigyn once more. “Well, since I’m already here, would it be possible for me to spirit your handmaiden away for our midday meal? I do realize her earlier belatedness has put her behind in her duties, but I don’t wish to eat alone…and I am finding my appetite today is rather insatiable.”

“I have no objection to that, if Sigyn does not. In fact, as exhausted as she has been lately, perhaps it would be better for her to take the remainder of the afternoon off to catch up on her rest.”

“It will be my pleasure to see to it that she does.”

The queen sighs. “Loki, you do understand what _rest_ is, do you not? It’s a popular alternative use for a bed, so I hear. Not all of us have your limitless reservoirs of energy.”

“Of course, Mother. There’s no need to be indelicate. You’re making Sigyn blush.”

“For pity’s sake, do not lecture me on indelicacies, my son.”  

Sigyn has been watching this exchange, pinned to the sofa as if affixed to it, silently observing as others seek to determine her afternoon activities. A surge of rebelliousness bubbles up into her gut.

_Easily manipulated. Not this time, Your Highness._

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she interrupts, rising to her feet and joining them at the queen’s table. “As kind as you are to make the offer, I feel my energies would be better used in attending _you_ this afternoon. Perhaps even into the evening, should you require my services. It’s really the least I can do to make up for my earlier… _unprofessional_ conduct.” She says the last with a pointed look at Loki, and for the first time it seems to occur to him that he may have misjudged the extent to which his charisma makes up for his less than delightful behavior.

His smile evaporates. “You would leave me to eat alone?”

“Well yes, but luckily for you, eating alone is just as effective at curbing your hunger as eating with company.”  

“But not as _enjoyable_.” His eyes are wide, his jaw jutted out…the face of someone who is painfully unaccustomed to not getting his way.

“An unavoidable consequence, I’m afraid.”

The fire in his eyes is momentarily spectacular, and Sigyn knows without a doubt that if she and Loki were literally anywhere else in the palace besides his mother’s chambers, with his mother present, she would find herself being taken against the nearest wall for her lack of cooperation. It’s a thrilling thought, one that almost causes her to change her mind, to take his hand and allow him to lead her away and sate his appetite, but she persists.

“Perhaps another time? Now if you’ll excuse me, I should really be getting back to my work.”

He blinks, shaking his head minutely as if banishing a bad dream. “Of course,” he says. “Another time then.”   

He takes her hands in his, drawing her near so he can kiss her cheek just out of his mother’s earshot. He lingers a moment, long enough to whisper in her ear, his breath hot and ticklish on her skin. “When you return to me this evening, I am going to _devour_ you.”

She can’t stop the shiver before it appears, and as she watches over Loki’s shoulder the queen averts her eyes, clearing her throat as a reminder that she’s still there.

He pulls back, and with a curt bow to his mother he turns on his heels and walks away. He doesn’t glance back, leaving Sigyn to watch him as he retreats, his body impossibly more sinuous and sensual hidden under his numerous layers of clothing than it is when exposed.

The queen lets out an unexpected delicate laugh the moment the door latches, startling Sigyn out of her thoughts. “In all my years, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my son so nonplussed,” she says. “He’s always thinking, trying to plan for nearly every eventuality – but I’m sure he never planned for someone like _you_. A quick study indeed.”

She turns back to her writing, leaving Sigyn to return to her work in silence, pondering the intelligence of her actions and whether she’ll ever get a full night’s rest again. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was originally meant to be only a one-shot has now blossomed into a two-parter. Whoops.

She sends a note to Loki after her duties, with strict instructions to have it delivered no earlier than thirty minutes after she leaves the palace.

_I am sleeping at my apartment tonight. I will see you in the morning._

It’s as simple as that. No salutation, no signature, no term of endearment. It won’t help the situation, but she’s far past caring. He needs to be taught a lesson.

She walks home, taking a different route than usual on the off chance Loki might be following. As she opens the door, she catches a glance of Edmund and Ingrid on the sofa, hastily returning to a sitting position from where he’s had her pushed into the cushions. Ingrid quickly reaches to cover her bare chest.

“Sigyn!” says Edmund, throwing his abandoned shirt over Ingrid’s struggling form. “I, uh, I wasn’t expecting you home tonight. I thought you were staying at the palace.”

“Not tonight,” says Sigyn, keeping her eyes averted as she makes her way to her room. “I’m going to bed. Just pretend I’m not here.”

Whatever response they make is cut off as she shuts the door to her bedroom. Belatedly she wishes she had grabbed something to eat from the kitchen before barricading herself, but going back out into the apartment is the least appealing of her few remaining options.

She shrugs out of her gown and drops it in a pile next to the bed. She looks at it for a moment, trying to decide whether to take the time to hang it or leave it where it is before deciding it can wait. The all-encompassing exhaustion she’s been valiantly fighting for days is finally winning out.

Too tired to bother with a sleeping gown, she crawls up onto the mattress in only her undergarments. As she slides under the linens, it occurs to her that they are far less fine than those that cover Loki’s bed, less pleasant on her bare skin, but they are warm and her pillow is soft. They will more than suffice.

The fog of sleep has only just begun to creep into the edges of her consciousness when she is startled by a very loud, very _insistent_ knocking. She jumps from the bed and rushes across the room, holding her ear to the wood of her door in time to hear Edmund’s footsteps in the hallway, followed by the creak of the front entry.

“Your Highness –“

“Your sister. Is she here?” asks an agitated voice, unmistakably Loki’s.

“Yes, of course. She’s in her –“

He is unable to finish before Sigyn hears someone coming down the hallway. She hurries back to her bed and dives under the covers, cowering against the headboard just as the footsteps stop right outside her door.

Edmund’s voice once more, his cordial tone mixed with barely suppressed irritation. “I suppose, uh, Ingrid and I can stay elsewhere tonight.”

“That would be most wise,” says Loki. “The night will not be pleasant for you if you stay.”

Sigyn scarcely has time to pull the covers up to her neck before Loki lets himself into her room without knocking and leans against the closed door, his arms crossed over his chest. He’s more casually dressed than she’s ever seen him outside the privacy of his chambers, wearing only a thin tunic, leggings, and short boots. His hair is unkempt, curling at the ends in the way she knows he detests. For him to leave the comfort of the palace in this manner, to risk being seen by anyone in such a state of disarray, says more about his mental state than anything else.

She trembles – not _entirely_ from fear – with the thought of what he’s going to do to her for her insolence.

They stare at each other, neither of them daring to speak. Only after the front door signals her brother and Ingrid’s departure does Loki break the silence.

“I got your note. It was quite rude.”

“ _I_ was rude?” she says, huffing in indignation.  “I’m not the one who abandoned all discretion in front of your mother.”

“I said nothing indiscrete to her.”

“You told her we had sex on your _desk_ last night.”

“I never said that.”

She growls in frustration, truly believing she could cut him to pieces right now and not even miss him. “Perhaps not in so many words, but that’s clearly what you insinuated.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sigyn. I was merely seeking her advice for my ruined book and innocently asking to eat a meal with you.”

“Ugh, you are an incorrigible…” she begins to say _brat_ before she thinks better of it. She sighs and pulls her sheets farther up her neck. “So…were you able to eat without me?”

He glances down at his right hand, flexing his fingers before making a fist. “Twice,” he says. There is such ice in his tone she’s surprised when his breath doesn’t fog the air.

“Alone, I hope.”

“Oh, most assuredly alone.”

“Then why are you here? You can’t possibly be hungry.”

“Oh, Sigyn,” he says, pushing himself away from the door and slinking across the room to sit on the edge of her bed. “With you, I’m always hungry.”

She grows weary of their game of semantics, of dancing around what they’re really trying to say. “You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?” she asks. “Coming all this way and expecting me to capitulate to you? To just lie back and let you have your way with me?”

He tightens his lips into a thin line, grinding his teeth together hard enough to be audible. “Now you’re just being obstinate.”

“You humiliated me, Loki! If you were attempting to set an amorous mood, that was a terrible way to go about it.”

He tucks his chin to his chest and sighs loudly. “I don’t wish to argue with you, Sigyn. That’s not why I’m here, nor am I seeking your physical affections.”

She says nothing, her eyes squinting in disbelief.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Unless you’re offering –“

“I’m not.”

“I know you’re naked under there. You can hardly blame me for asking.” He stares at the floor for a beat before continuing. “You’re angry with me, and I don’t like it.”

“Then don’t do things to make me angry.”

“I wasn’t trying to. My mind is so conflicted when it comes to you. I don’t always know the correct way to express my feelings.”

“Conflicted? What do you mean?”

“I mean…I want to shout my joy from the rooftops, but at the same time I want to keep it all to myself. My mother is one of the few in whom I trust to divulge my secrets. Perhaps I was a bit…overzealous in the amount of information I _euphemistically_ shared with her. I thought you might find it funny. Clearly I was mistaken.”

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t enjoy being angry with you. I came home because I needed time to think. And I knew that if I went to your chambers tonight, there wouldn’t have been any talking.”

“A fair assumption. And if I’d had my way in the state I was in when I left the palace this evening, there wouldn’t have been any talking here, either.”

“And yet here we are, talking. What changed your mind?”

His smile is broad and boyish. “I decided you’re far more fun when you’re properly rested. More…participatory.”

“Then why come all the way here if you’re just going to let me rest for the night? I can do that without you.”

“Because I didn’t like the way we left it. I wanted to talk to you, and it couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

The initial surge of energy she experienced upon his arrival is quickly wearing off, and she can feel her eyelids getting heavy once again. “Well, I suggest you talk quickly before I fall asleep.”

He reaches up, peeling one of her hands away from the furs in her fist and holding it in his. “I spent _months_ longing for you, Sigyn, from the time you were appointed to serve my mother until the day you gave yourself to me for the first time. Have you any idea what that did to me?”

 _Yes, yes, I suffered as well_ , she thinks, but his expression is so serious, so intense, her thoughts die in her throat before she can speak them.

He continues, squeezing her hand in his as he speaks. “Every night I would lie awake, tormented with thoughts of you. Wondering how your hands would look grasping my sheets, how your skin would taste on my tongue, the kinds of sounds you would make as I took you. Thoughts so pervasive I couldn’t rest until I had stroked myself to completion, imagining it was not _my_ hand surrounding my cock but yours…not your _hand_ but your mouth…not your _mouth_ but your...” His words trail off, and for the first time Sigyn notices how he has drifted nearer and nearer to her while simultaneously hypnotizing her with his words. She would only have to tilt her head forward a little and their lips would touch.

_Bastard._

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks, her voice barely a croak. To torture her, probably. She could weep from the combined frustration and adoration; she had spent her nights in a similar manner in that same stretch of time, never once _daring_ to think he’d been likewise occupied to thoughts of her.

“I confess it now because you need to know _this_ ,” he says. “Every fevered dream my mind conjured, every scenario that played out in my quest for peace and fleeting satisfaction, they all pale in comparison to the pleasure you bring me in reality.”

He’s never been this open with her before, this candid. She can only look at him in stunned silence and hope he doesn’t suddenly regret his words.

He raises a hand, running his knuckles over her cheek. “None of those things are a mystery to me any longer. I know now exactly how your hands look grasping at the sheets on my bed, but it’s not as beautiful a sight as when you grace me with a smile meant for me alone. The taste of your body is as familiar to me now as my own reflection, but a single kiss from you is more delightful than the finest wine in all the Nine Realms. And the sounds you make as I take you are as exquisite as I dreamed they would be – but even they fail to bring me the contentment that blooms within me after, as I’m holding you, when you tell me you love me.”

He eliminates the last bit of distance between them to kiss her tenderly, almost chastely, before pulling away. “Self-abuse is a terrible substitute after so devastating an experience, my love. I hope you can forgive my disappointment in your earlier refusal.”

If she ever had doubts about his gift for manipulation and influence before, this little speech has decisively and permanently eliminated them. She finds herself nearly apologizing to _him_ for not accommodating his needs before she catches herself. “I forgive you,” she manages to say. “Just…don’t do it again.”

_Don’t do it again? That was pitiful, you lovesick fool. This man has destroyed you utterly, and you have gone to your ruin with a smile._

“Consider me fully chastised,” he says, his hand over his heart. “And if you would allow me one final act of contrition, I would stay here with you tonight –“ he raises his hand when she opens her mouth to object – “to sleep, and _only_ to sleep.”

“Why should I trust you?” she asks, already certain she doesn’t, but equally certain that she isn’t going to send him away.

“I’ve done nothing today to earn your trust. Allow me the opportunity to change that.”

She nods her head, sliding down the bed and further under the covers, her eyes never leaving his. He stands up and removes his boots and tunic; his thumbs are in the waist of his leggings when she stops him.

“No, leave those on.”

He looks at her incredulously. “But I never –“

“Leave them on, or go home.”

For a moment, she thinks he is going to call her bluff, gather his things and say goodbye, but then he lets out a sharp laugh and removes his hands from his waist. “ _Norns_ , what have you done to me?” he whispers as he joins her beneath the covers and gathers her into his arms.

At once, her body relaxes into his and sleep begins to claim her. Just before the darkness consumes her, a thought occurs to her.

“Wait,” she says. “If you only planned on sleeping tonight, why did you send Edmund and Ingrid away?”

He chuckles, and he sounds a thousand miles away. “To inconvenience him, my love. Now get some sleep.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the saying "discretion is the better part of valor" - meaning sometimes it's better to be careful and think before you act, something Loki occasionally has a difficult time doing. I thought it would be fun to show that Loki doesn't always get his way when he wants something (though the poor girl likely paid for it in spades the next day).


End file.
